


The Price of Betrayal is Always Blood

by untamedsymphony



Category: Raymond Reddington - Fandom, The Blacklist (TV), lizzington - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untamedsymphony/pseuds/untamedsymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my take on how Red might react to Lizzie faking her death.  The first chapter is very angry, so consider yourself warned.  I think Red has every right to his pain and anger, but I don't think he will ever stop loving her.  Forgiveness has to be earned sometimes.....</p><p>As always, I don't own The Blacklist, I just love Red too much to leave the poor man alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Price of What You've Done

“Please, Dembe, I have to see him!” 

“No, Elizabeth, I’m very sorry. He was very clear that he did not wish to be disturbed tonight.” Dembe was adamant, blocking the entrance to Red’s current safe house. While not warm, the compassionate regret on the large man’s eyes was more of a welcome than Lizzie had received from anyone since her return. Red had orchestrated her and Agnes’ rescue from Alexander Kirk almost a month ago in a bloody battle that had resulted in severe injury for many of Red’s men and body bags for almost all of Kirk’s. Kirk himself had managed to escape, but with both Red and the FBI hunting him openly now, it wouldn’t be long before he fell. Red had held her tightly to him for a brief moment when he found her in the locked suite of rooms she and Agnes had been kept in, but quickly disappeared after that. He had refused to see her since.

There had been no sign of Tom since she had returned to D.C. and she was glad. He had left them for dead with Kirk and that had finally brought the truth of who he really was home to her. She never wanted to see him again and she certainly didn’t was him around her daughter. 

On her two visits to the Post Office in the weeks since, her former colleagues there had wanted little or nothing to do with her beyond what was necessary to debrief her on her time as Kirk’s prisoner and what she might know about his plans, She didn’t really blame them after everything she had put them through, but it still hurt. 

God, when she thought about the funeral and how they must have all mourned her, the guilt just ate at her. Now Samar stared at her coldly and walked away whenever Lizzie tried to speak to her and Cooper just looked at her with such sad disappointment it physically hurt to be near him. Even Ressler, with his fiery temper, had refused to even yell at her, instead quietly telling her he needed time and to leave him be for now. 

Only Aram had shown signs of thawing, his heart too soft to stay angry for long. He had been the one to tell her about Red’s devastation when he thought she was dead and of the violent rampage he had set out on when he sought to avenge her. 

When Lizzie had shown up at Aram’s apartment earlier this evening, she had been able to persuade him to locate Red for her and to watch Agnes while she came here to try and explain and apologize. And now it looked like she might not even make past Red’s door. 

“Dembe, please, I’m begging you! I have to try and make this right” Lizzie was feeling desperate and she let him see in on her face, needed him to understand how much this mattered. “If he doesn’t want to see me after tonight, I promise to stay away, but I have to try, Dembe. I have to” she pleaded, on the verge of tears. 

With a sigh he finally relented, moving aside and opening the door wide enough for her to slip through, but as she brushed past him, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him questioningly, becoming concerned at the worry and hesitation on his face. 

“Elizabeth, Raymond has not been himself lately. Please, be very careful about how you approach him and with what you say.” He waited for her nod of understanding before he dropped his hand from her shoulder and ushered her further into the hallway before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving her to find her own way to Red. 

As she moved deeper into the interior of the dimly lit house, she could hear music playing further ahead. It was a haunting melody, moody and sad. It tickled at the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t place it. Lizzie followed the lingering notes through the darkened rooms until she stopped in front of the closed door of what was probably a sitting room. Slowly she turned the handle and the door opened silently, allowing her to see into the center of the room. 

Red sat with his back to her, seated at a piano, his dexterous hands moving with sensual grace over the keys. He had removed his suit jacket and tie and a decanter of Scotch sat next to his half full glass on top of the piano. He must have been completely lost in the music he was creating, for he never looked up, never turned around. Lizzie could see his reflection in the glass window pane opposite him, and his eyes were closed, his face a study of mingled pain and grief. He looked so tired and alone. 

Lizzie stood in the doorway, unable to move, a frozen witness to this private moment. To her surprise, after playing the refrain again, Red began to sing. His voice wasn’t exactly on pitch, but it was deep and strong. The words he sang were so wretchedly forlorn that they caused something in her chest to twist painfully as she listened, finally recognizing the song. 

_Did my best but it wasn’t much_

_Couldn’t feel so I tried to touch_

_I told the truth, I didn’t come to fool ya_

_And even though it all went wrong_

_Stand before the Lord of song_

_With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

 

As the last notes began to fade, she could feel the tears running down her face. He was in so much pain. Had she done this to him? How was she ever going to fix this? Hopeless swept through her and she tried to choke back her sobs, tried to remain quiet, but she must have made some small noise because Red stiffened and slowly turned towards her. 

“Lizzie…..Her name came out as a breath, and for just a moment, she saw _something_ flare in his eyes before he schooled his features into a mask of cold indifference, the moment shattered by what lay broken between them. 

Standing from the bench, he tugged his vest back into place before reaching for his glass on the piano, deliberately not looking at her now. At his silence, Lizzie slowly advanced further into the room, moving towards one of the leather chairs instead of to where he stood, afraid to crowd him, unsure of his mood. Before she could sit, his voice stopped her. 

‘Why are you here, Elizabeth? What could have possibly brought you around, uninvited, to my door at this hour?” His voice was flat and without any emotion, so different from how he normally spoke to her. Like she was an annoyance he could not wait to be rid of. God, she missed the joy and affection that used to fill his voice and light up his face when he saw her. She missed it so badly right then. She never realized how much she needed it, _needed him_ , until she had run away and ruined everything. 

She took a few deep breaths, trying to get her emotions under control, unsure how to begin now that she was here with him. This wasn’t about her tonight she reminded herself. This was about trying to fix the damage she had caused. She just prayed she could. 

“Red I came here tonight to try and explain why I did what I did and to tell you how sorry I am that I chose that path.” She began, but he cut her off. 

“Explanations aren’t necessary, Elizabeth. You did what you thought was in your best interest at the time. I can hardly fault you for that, even though you were foolish in your methods. And apologies don’t erase spilled blood; that stain runs far too deep for mere words to lift it out.” Red paused for a moment, shook his head once and continued. “Nothing can turn back the hands of time, Elizabeth. What’s done is done. Now I think you should leave.” He never turned to look at her the entire time he was speaking and Lizzie wondered if he could no longer stand the sight of her. The thought of it made her frantic. 

“I’m not leaving until you listen to me!” she cried. That outburst at least earned her a glare of annoyance. 

“Fine, if you won’t leave, then I will” he stated flatly. He moved towards the still open door, but as he walked past her, Lizzie reached out and put her hand on his arm to make him wait. He froze under her touch, his eyes drawn to where her hand rested on his forearm. When Red raised his stare to hers, she recoiled at the look of sheer loathing in his burning gaze. She jerked her hand from him as if burned and he turned away to continue out of the room. 

"Just tell me what you're feeling, please!" Lizzie shouted her plea at his broad back, desperate to stop him from leaving while everything was so wrong between them.  She was not prepared for the crash of noise when he hurled the crystal tumbler in his hand against the far wall without warning, a bellow seeming to rip from deep inside him.  His rage filled the room, moving in slow, pulsing waves towards where she stood, pushing relentlessly against her, even as he remained as he was, still facing away from her, fists balled at his sides and his only movement the deep heaving breaths billowing in and out of his lungs as he fought to calm himself. 

“Red, please….” She whispered. 

At the sound of her broken plea, he whirled to face her and advanced quickly across the room, the cold fury on his face and in his predatory stride drove her back, stumbling away from him until her back hit the wall behind her and she could retreat no further.  Red brought both palms up to slam against the paneling on either side of her head, making Lizzie jump and effectively trapping her in place. 

"What am I feeling?" he grated, his face only inches from hers, the mask of indifference ripped away, his features openly displaying the full range of the emotions rioting through him now. He wasn’t holding back any more and the rage flashing in his eyes made her feel, for the first time, afraid.  After three years of trying, she had finally managed to make Raymond Reddington lose control, and it was terrifying to behold. 

"Red, I know you're angry-" she tried, only to be silenced by his laugh, the words dying on her lips.  Lizzie had never heard such a sound from him before, it was low and cruel and so very, very cold. It sent shivers of apprehension skittering across her skin.  

"Oh, Lizzie, I am feeling a great many things right now, but anger is far too mild a descriptive for any of it.  Enraged might get you closer to the mark.  Betrayed would be apt as well. But most of all, Elizabeth, what I feel is _tired_. Tired of your selfishness and your self-righteous judgments. Tired of your childish and demanding behavior and your refusal to see what is right in front of you, no matter how many times I warn you. And I am utterly _exhausted_ from trying to save you from yourself as you run from one disaster to the next, never thinking about the destruction you leave in your wake until it's too late” his voice was dripping with distain now. 

“Tell me Lizzie, how many people have you hurt in your mad dash to a short lived freedom? How many lives have you cost? Did you even consider the consequences of your actions and how they would affect the people who aided you in your foolishness?” Not giving her a chance to answer, he went on, his own pain at what he was soon going to be required to do making him cruel. 

“What do you think is going to happen to Mr. Kaplan now that she helped you? And to Nick _?”_ He never raised his voice, the arctic cold of his tone far worse than if he had been screaming in her face and his words chilled her to the bone. 

“What are going to do to them, Red?” she whimpered, terrified she already knew the answer. Her terror only grew as she watched his eyes go flat and dead as his face emptied of all emotion. His answer was as merciless as his gaze. 

“You know the price of betrayal in my world, Elizabeth.  You’ve forced my hand, left me no other choice. By helping you, they sealed their own fates. _Who did you think was going to pay the price for what you've done?"_

 


	2. Mea Culpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie finally sees herself. The questions remains, is it too little too late?
> 
> As always, I don't own the Blacklist, but I sure can hurt for them.

_‘_ _Who did you think was going to pay the price for what you’ve done?’_ His words haunted her long after he had pushed away from where he had held her trapped between his hard body and the even harder truths he had forced her to finally face. Her eyes, blinded to everything but visions of the horror that would soon occur as a direct result of her choices, did not see where he went, but her ears told her he hadn’t left the room. After a time, she realized Red must have returned to the piano, for another melody began to find space in the oppressive silence that lay between them like a chasm. It was a gentler tune, but still sad and melancholy and though there were no words, she could still hear the grief and regret in the music calling out to her in recrimination.

Slowly she slid down the wall to sit with her knees drawn up to her chest and buried her face between her arms, despair at what she had done weighing her down to the point she felt she couldn’t breathe. He was right. Not one word Red had given her tonight had been untrue. As Lizzie let the last three years play out in her head, she finally saw the undeniable truth of who she was.

She was selfish and self-righteous, always judging him without bothering to even _try_ to understand why he did the things he did. She had constantly badgered him for answers to questions regarding her past, never believing him when he warned her over and over about the dangers those answers would bring. Always demanding his help, never _asking_ for it and rarely thanking him when he unfailingly provided it.

How many times had Red saved her life, coming to her rescue when she had foolishly rushed into situations he had warned her off of, she so stubborn and so sure that she knew better than he, refusing to believe anything other than that he was only trying to control her, using her to further his own agenda, despite all the proof to the contrary. Unloading her temper on him whenever the mood struck her, she had condemned him as monster over and over. How she bitterly regretted those words now.

She had never acknowledged his efforts to spare those he could; to help the innocents caught in the crossfire of the grim world he inhabited, though even she, so willfully blind to any good in him, had not been able to avoid seeing it. Instead, she had spited him by rejecting over and over the hundreds of little kindnesses he had tried to gift her with, throwing them back in his face with gleeful righteousness, so sure they came with strings attached. How often had she rebuffed his affections, accusing him of all manner of manipulations and mechanics. To her shame, she now realized that not once had he attempted to defend himself, no matter how often or how viscously she wounded him. No, instead he had just accepted the abuse with quiet pain, as though it was all he deserved from her.

Red had sacrificed so much to help her, abandoning his empire to see her through the horror of the Cabal’s attack; protecting her with everything he had while they ran. He had been in his element, the master strategist, setting people and plans into motion, seemingly always three moves ahead. And when she had nearly broke in that diner, beating a man almost to death with all the helpless rage she could muster, he had saved her from herself, managing even in that chaos to find time to offer comfort for her despondent spirit.

Uncaring that the exposure from the media would endanger him, that his rivals in the criminal world were now most certainly paying attention, Red had worked closely with the task force, guiding them towards their shared goal. And as much as she knew her friends loved her, Lizzie knew equally well that _Red_ had been the driving force behind her exoneration. Bulling, cajoling, threatening whomever he had to, making whichever deal necessary and doing whatever was required to see her not only free, but with a public apology from the very people who had hunted her so ruthlessly.

It had cost Red dearly and forced him to commit horrible acts of violence in the aftermath to regain control of his world. And now, once again, because of her and the awful choices she had made, he was going to be forced to spill life’s blood. This time, it would be those closest to Red’s own heart that would be the ones to bleed.

Why, oh why had she done it? Looking back now, she could see all the pitfalls and mistakes, the stupid, selfish foolishness of it all, but in that one pivotal moment in time, all she could see was a brief chance at something she had so desperately wanted. Lizzie had told herself at the time it was all for Agnes, that it was the only way to keep her little girl safe from the perils of Red’s world and the dangers of her parentage. And in the madness surrounding the birth and the mind-numbing fear of whoever was hunting them, she had convinced herself that it was true.

And so, with Tom’s urging, she had grabbed onto Mr. Kaplan’s plan with both hands and she had run with it. But during the week she was alone in Cuba, waiting for Tom to bring her Agnes, Lizzie had begun to doubt the choice she had made in such haste. Had begun to see it for the folly it was.

It was a beautiful fantasy, a loving family and a normal life, but there was nothing normal about her or Tom. How were they supposed to provide what they had never known? They had no support in place, no family or friends here to turn to for help, and the idea of relying solely on Tom had left her feeling uneasy. Lizzie had told herself she was being ridiculous, that Tom loved her and her baby; that he had truly changed and would be there for them. Still, the uneasiness had remained.

When he and Agnes had finally arrived, the joy of the reunion had been short lived. Oh, her daughter was perfect in every way, and nothing could ever top the sheer magnitude of the feelings that poured through her at having Agnes safe in her arms, but as she studied the tiny features and the bright gaze that studied her in return, Lizzie felt her heart freeze in terror.

To distract herself before Tom could realize something was wrong, Lizzie had begged him for news about those they had left behind. At first he had refused, saying they needed to focus on their future and not on their past, on building their new life together as a family. He had finally relented after she had continued to press and he had seemed genuinely sorry for the pain her former co-workers and friends were going through. She had forgotten what a very talented actor he was.

However, when Lizzie asked about Red, he had dropped all pretenses, not even trying to hide his glee at the other man’s agony. Tom had gloated about how devastated Red had been, mocking his grief and laughing about how Red had all but begged Tom to allow him to help protect Agnes from Alexander Kirk. She had never truly understood until that moment how deep Tom’s hatred for Red ran. Shaken by this new realization and what she had seen in her daughter’s bright gaze, she had asked Tom to run to the open market down the road to get a few things for dinner, needing space so she could think. With a blink and a smile, the warm, loving husband was back as if the other had never been.

When the door closed behind him, Lizzie had rushed to the bathroom and been violently ill. Red had been right. But Tom wasn’t just fundamentally dishonest, he was _broken_ , his mind so twisted with hatred towards Reddington that it bordered on madness. Without proximity to Red, that madness would need a new target and eventually he would look at Agnes and really _see_ her. How he hadn’t yet baffled her, but she was so grateful. The images of what he might do when he realized the truth chilled Lizzie to her core.

She needed to call Mr. Kaplan and get herself and Agnes out of there before Tom came back. Going into her bedroom, she went to the wall safe and opened it, reaching in and pulling out the secure satellite phone Mr. Kaplan had given her for emergencies. Before she could punch in the phone number, Agnes began to wail, high-pitched screams that told Lizzie something was definitely wrong. Rushing from her room, she ran to the nursery. She never saw the blow that knocked her unconscious, but the pain had been blinding.

Lizzie had awoken to a living nightmare. Her father, the man she thought she had killed as a child somehow was alive, if not entirely well, and was now holding her captive; his threats against Agnes ensuring her cooperation. Lizzie had tried to put on a brave front, hiding her fear behind the anger always so close to the surface of her, but he had known. Vibrant blue eyes, a mirror image of her own, had almost glowed with delight as Alexander Kirk had informed her that Tom had already fled back to the states after making only a cursory effort to locate his missing family. Once he had discovered Kirk had them, he had turned tail and ran, leaving them behind without a second glance.

Lizzie had laughed bitterly at that point, realizing she wasn’t even really all that surprised. This was the man she had chosen; decided to make a life with, to marry not once, but twice. She had chosen him over Red; seen him as the lesser of two evils and had chosen him to help raise her daughter. Red had warned her, begged her to listen to the truth of what he was telling her. Men like Tom don’t change, and he had never been worthy of being called Agnes’s father.

Bitter tears had slid down her face uncheck and Kirk had stepped forward, cupping her chin in his cold, cold hand, tipping it up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“And do you know what the best part of our little drama is, Masha? The best part is that thanks to your own efforts, the only man who could possibly save you from me thinks that you are dead!”

Kirk’s mad laughter would follow her into her nightmares for years to come, Lizzie was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please let me know if I took Lizzie too far down a dark path. It felt right when I wrote it, but it hurt. As always, thank you for reading and commenting.


	3. Choices Have Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I should have made it clear in the beginning that this is slightly A/U. In my version, Scottie and her organization do not exist, Tom is simply the slimy little SOB he's always been and has absolutely no chance of redemption. That being said, this chapter was very frustrating and ended up being somewhat of a filler. I apologize for that and hope the next chapter will make up for it.
> 
> As always, I don't own The Blacklist, I just seem to be obsessed with Red....It's not such a bad habit to have, really.

_“And do you know what the best part of our little drama is, Masha? The best part is that thanks to your own efforts, the only man who could possibly save you from me thinks that you are dead!” Kirk’s mad laughter would follow her into her nightmares for years to come, Lizzie was sure of it._

The memory of the madness that had crawled through her father’s vibrant blue gaze made Lizzie shudder in revulsion. Shaking her head to rid it of the disturbing images, she glanced over towards the piano, unconsciously seeking the comfort Red’s solid presence always seemed to provide and suddenly realized with a bolt of panic that the room was no longer filled with the haunting melodies that had been so eloquently giving voice to his pain. Eyes darting around the room frantically, she let out a jagged breath when they found him, now seated in one of the two leather chairs in the room. Weariness lay like a heavy mantle across his shoulders as he sat with his head laid back and eyes closed; a tumbler of scotch dangling from the fingertips of the hand he rested over the arm of the chair. He must have replaced the one he had destroyed earlier from the set residing on the mantle above the fireplace, and Lizzie wished fervently that the rest of the damage done here tonight and in all of the previous months could be so easily remedied.

The amber liquor swirling in the tumbler caught her gaze and she found herself unable to look away, entranced by the knowledge that the fragile glass was prevented from crashing to the floor only by the delicate grip of the man slouched so unlike himself in the chair, his usual bearing of confidence and power replaced now by one that screamed silently of crushing isolation and relentless grief. It was ironic, the symbolism of that glass; a true reflection of their relationship in the last few months. Red had been holding on to her for so long by just his fingertips, his grasp made precarious by her volatile nature and the outside forces working against them. And just as she had, the delicate container he now held could so easily slip from away from him, its contents spilling out and left to spread an ugly stain across the finely woven fabric below. _‘Apologies don’t erase spilled blood; that stain runs far too deep for mere words to lift out.’_

No, there weren’t enough words in any language to wash away the blood staining her hands now, but perhaps, if she could help him find a way to spare the lives of two people whose only sin had lain in a misguided attempt to help her, it would, in some small way, be enough to ease some of the pain that she had so carelessly burdened him with.

Slowly Lizzie rose from the floor, muscles stiff from staying still for so long, and made her way silently to where he sat. Standing above him, looking down at his unguarded expression, she _really_ saw him for the first time in years, perhaps for the first time ever, and realized with socking clarity, that right now, in this moment, for all of his strength and larger than life persona, Red was just a man. Not a monster, not the Concierge of Crime or number four on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, but just a man who had been betray by those he loved.

Without the intensity of his gray-green gaze to distract her, the physical signs of stress were impossible to miss. She could see the lines around his eyes, and while they had been there for as long as she had know him, there was no denying that they were far deeper now than she remembered them ever to be; his normally robust complexion had gone sallow without the flush his anger had lent it, the only spots of color remaining now were the heavy circles under his eyes, dark enough that they appeared to be bruises. He had lost weight, probably not eating or sleeping properly, his skin now stretched tight over the newly gaunt angles of his features, lending them a harder cast than was their usual wont. Lizzie shook her head, blinking back the tears she knew he would not appreciate. It was just so _wrong_ , seeing him reduced in this manner and Lizzie’s throat filled with bile at the knowledge that she had brought to this state.

Inevitably, his eyes opened and she had to look away, unable to bear the weight of what she saw there. Desperate to find something, anything to look at so they would not have to return to his, her eyes darted around the room until they landed on the large stain on the far wall. Clinging to the distraction, her gaze followed the streaks left on the paneling down to the floor, finally alighting on the glass that lay shattered there, forgotten, the only evidence of his earlier rage.

Shattered; it was an apt word for what she had done to him. When he had believed her dead, it had damn near broken him. Learning the truth had been worse, and that was the truth that lived in his eyes now. Yes, shattered was a very apt word.

Red’s voice, sounding as tired as he looked, broke into her thoughts and she reluctantly returned her gaze to his.

“Elizabeth, you’re right in that we need to talk, and if you are going to continue to insist that it be done tonight, that’s fine. But I’d rather not do so with you hovering over me. Please sit down.”

Wordlessly she obeyed him, but rather than moving to the other chair as he indicated, she sank to the floor where she stood, sitting almost at his feet. After tonight, she doubted she would be allowed in the same room with him ever again, let alone as close as she was now and she wanted to savor her proximity to him as long as she could. Looking nonplussed at her actions, Red remained quiet, obviously waiting for her to begin.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly in an effort to calm her nerves. Lizzie desperately hoped that he would hear her out completely, and by some miracle, perhaps be able to take the barely formed idea growing in her head and turn it into something resembling a workable plan.  

“Red, how many people outside of your organization know without a doubt that staging my death wasn’t part of one of your elaborate plans?” she asked softly.

His face flushed angrily and his lips pressed together in a narrow line, prompting Lizzie to look down and away as she tried in vain to brace herself against the scathing reply she had seen brewing in his unforgiving eyes. And why should he show mercy to those who had shown his heart none? _‘_ _You know the price of betrayal in my world, Elizabeth.’_    He would not forgive them, was quite possibly incapable of doing so after being wounded so deeply. Holding her breath against the sob that wanted to escape, Lizzie waited despondently for his rejection and the command that would banish her from his life forever.

When the silence in the room stretched out, remaining unbroken for several minutes, she risked a glance back up at him and was relieved by the considering look he now wore. No longer the focus of his gaze, she could almost see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind of his, sorting through his options, accepting or rejecting the various courses of action available to him, once again the master strategist.

Lizzie realized with a pang of regret that she had missed this, the thrill she got while watching his mind work, of trying to keep up with him. It used to frustrate her to no end that she had never quite been able to follow the deep and winding path of his thoughts, but tonight she was simply grateful for his ability to consider the information available and then ruthlessly twist circumstances to his benefit. Lizzie knew that while she may have been the one to plant the seed, if there was any possible way for it to grow into any kind of a successful plan, Red would have to be the one to bring it to fruition. She had no idea how much time had passed when she felt his gaze refocus on her. Trying to keep her features impassive, she waited patiently for his verdict.

“It could work, if handled properly” he conceded cautiously, not ready to give in completely just yet. “Dembe, Baz and Marvin Girard are the only ones inside my organization to know I believed you dead. The rest were only told that I wanted Kirk located and following that, I would take him out myself. They weren’t given any explanation beyond the original directive and when the mission turned into a rescue operation, they just assumed it had been part of the plan all along. Besides your three coconspirators, that leaves only the FBI and Omar, the poor man Kate tricked into flying Tom and Agnes to Cuba. The FBI has about as much interest as I do in admitting to being duped so easily, and so can be counted upon to remain silent on the issue. As for Omar, the man is so desperate to get back into my good graces that he’ll readily accept whatever story I provide as the gospel.” Here Red paused, draining the remaining liquor from his glass before setting it on the small table besides his chair.

“That brings us to the good doctor. He will need reminding of why it is unwise to bite the hand that feeds him. I may handle that conversation myself.” He gave a mirthless laugh at the look of dismay that crossed Lizzie’s features, adding with calculated indifference “Don’t look so worried, Elizabeth. If I’m going to spare Kate, I suppose in all fairness, I’ll have to let him live as well. That is the whole point of this exercise, is it not? The real reason you came here tonight? Not to beg my forgiveness, but rather to save your friends from the monster who holds their fates in his bloody hands.” His eyes held a challenge in them as he mocked her, almost as if he was daring her to lose her temper. That was how she would have reacted to his taunting in the past, but no longer. Not when she could see the pain behind his anger.

“You’re not a monster, Red, and if I had ever bothered to try and understand you, I would never had named you one.” The sincerity and quiet conviction in her voice seemed to take him aback, the uncertainty on his face making it plain that he was at a loss on how to respond. After a moment, he cleared his throat roughly and continued.

“Regardless of your opinion of me, there is one glaring flaw to this plan. A fly in the ointment, so to speak.” Leveling an uncompromising look at her, he spoke the name that she had been dreading all evening. “Tom.”

When it became obvious he would not continue until she responded in some way, she gave in, struggling to keep her voice empty of what she was feeling.

“What about Tom?”

Red’s lips twisted in a cruel parody of a smile, the deep rumble of his voice when it came unsettled her with the depth of the hatred it contained.

“Tom has the ability to unravel this whole farce of a plan, Elizabeth, and as much as you might try to deny it, you know it as well as I do. He cannot be trusted to remain silent no matter what I try to bribe or threaten him with.”

“I’m not denying it and I won’t try to defend him to you. I’ll accept whatever decision you make concerning him.”

Red gave a derisive sound of disbelief at her words, leaning quickly forward in his seat to bring his face within inches of hers. The sudden movement startled her, causing Lizzie to jerk back from him in surprise. His right arm snapped out and before she could react, the firm grip of his hand on the back of her neck brought her back to him. Her gaze held captive by the fire burning in his, she could only wait helplessly for whatever would come next.

“Tell me, Elizabeth, how big of a fool do you really think I am? Do you honestly expect me to believe that after everything you’ve done to be with him, you are now ready to simply accept the fact that I have every intention of killing the father of your child?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how you think this is going. It was originally intended to be a one shot, but the response was so positive that I decided to see where it might go. Let me know if you guys think I'm hitting the mark or should just quit while I'm ahead. Thanks in advance.


	4. Bitter Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions have a way of turn the brightest of hopes into bitter dregs........
> 
> As always, I don't own The Blacklist, and I wouldn't want to be in the room for this conversation.......

_“Tell me, Elizabeth, how big of a fool do you really think I am?” His voice was soft as silk and as deadly as she had ever heard it.  “Do you honestly expect me to believe that after everything you’ve done to be with him you are now ready to simply accept the fact that I have every intention of killing the father of your child?”_

Lizzie swallowed hard and trembled under his hand, fighting the urge to break away and run.  She had known the minute she crossed his threshold tonight that this moment would come, that it was inevitable that her secret could no longer be kept, but the knowledge in no way helped to alleviate the dread that settled like a stone in the pit of her stomach, for it was accompanied by the fact that once he knew what she had done, what she had hidden from him, he would never be able to forgive her.  The words she had once flung at him so righteously were now coming back to haunt her.  _Some things are simply unforgiveable_.

She must have remained silent too long for Red’s hand tightened on the back of her neck, demanding an answer.

Shifting her weight until she could come up onto her knees, Lizzie placed her hands on his legs and leaned in, maintaining eye contact as she brought her face level with his.  Red allowed it, though his hold on her did not relax in the slightest; almost as if he could feel the need to run coursing through her and refused to allow her the luxury of escape.

“Red, you can’t kill Agnes’ father” she whispered, but could go no further, the words that were sure to condemn her clogging her throat with their suffocating weight.

“Oh, I assure you, Elizabeth, I most certainly can, and as soon as I locate him, I will do _exactly_ that.  Tom Keen is a dead man.  He just doesn’t know it yet” he purred, an almost savage satisfaction at the thought of the other man’s eminent demise bleeding into his tone.

Lizzie waited for the horror she knew she should feel at the death sentence Red had just issued to hit her, but it never arrived. In its place, all she felt was a fierce relief that Tom would _never_ be a threat to her or Agnes again and she struggled to find the words that would convey that emotion to Red.

“You were right about Tom, right about everything.  He abandoned us in Cuba; as soon as he learned Kirk had us, he _ran_.  He ran like the coward he is and left us to _die_.  He made no attempt to rescue us, hell he didn’t even call the Bureau!  Or you.  He had to have known that you would move heaven and hell to find us, to bring us home, but he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone and make that call.  You were right about him when you told me he was fundamentally dishonest, but Red, it goes way beyond that.  Tom is _broken_.  He’s so consumed with hatred for you that he would rather have let us die than for you be the one to rescue us.  Instead, he chose to turn his back on us and ran.”  Dragging in a deep breath, she continued, pouring every ounce of sincerity she could into her voice in an effort to make him understand, to make him _believe_ what she was saying.

“To be perfectly honest, if he was here right now, I’d probably pull the trigger myself.  It’s what he deserves. So I don’t care anymore what you decide to do with him, kill him if you need to, but, Red, you _can’t_ kill Agnes’ father.”

Red’s eyes narrowed at her as his head cocked to the side and she could see a glimmer of suspicion growing in the emerald depths.

“Elizabeth, you aren’t making any sense.” The words were so cautious, so careful, begging her to tell him that what he was beginning to suspect was so farfetched, so ridiculous that it was not even worth speaking out loud.

“Red, when is the last time you saw Agnes?” she asked softly, her heart breaking at the pain she was about to cause him, that she was unable to give him the lie he so desperately wanted and knowing there was no way to soften the blow.

“I wasn’t allowed to see her very often, just a handful of times really.  The last was just before Tom made off with her for Cuba.”

“Where her eyes still newborn grey then?”

“Still?  Elizabeth, what are you talking about?  Agnes’ eyes are blue, were blue every time I saw her.”

“Almost all Caucasian babies are born with grey or blue eyes, Red. It can take up to nine months for their true eye color to appear.”  She reached into her back pocket to pull out her cell and fumbling a bit, she pulled up the photo she was looking for.  With trembling hands she offered it to him.  With his free hand, Red took it from her, glanced down and saw it was a recent picture of little Agnes, dated in fact just this morning according to the time stamp in the corner of the screen.

The infant was sitting in a bouncy seat, a colorful toy grasped in one pudgy fist as she laughed.  He smiled at her toothless grin, his eyes automatically mapping the tiny face, looking, as he had each time he had been allowed in her presence, for traces of her mother in the miniature features.  It had been the only thing that had allowed him any kind of peace, a small measure of comfort while he had been mired in the hell of believing Lizzie dead.  Seeing her in Agnes had made him feel like Lizzie hadn’t been lost to him completely.  

And everything about her screamed of Lizzie, from her stubborn little chin and Cupid’s bow mouth to the outgoing and demanding personality.  The child was sure to grow into the spitting image of her mother and the thought was able, for just a moment, to offer a ray of warmth into the bleak winter that had settled into his soul.  Red’s grip on the back of Lizzie’s neck relaxed, his long, capable fingers beginning to massage her nape, the act an unconscious one born out of long standing habit, the result of all the times in the past he had tried to ease some of the tension she had so frequently come to him with.

“She’s as beautiful as ever, Elizabeth, but I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.” And still his hand moved on her nape, soothing and calming, offering hope were there should be none.  If he could still touch her with such tenderness, perhaps there was still a chance he wouldn’t despise her, that he would be able to understand the _why_ of what she had done, and forgive her.  She would hold to that hope with every fiber of her being in the next few minutes.  It was all she had left.

“Slide the screen to the next picture” Lizzie instructed softly, trepidation and hope and something _more_ all swirling together inside of her so that her voice trembled and shook with emotion.

Shooting her a quizzical look, Red did as he was told and slid his thumb across the screen before glancing back at the device.  Every muscle in his body went rigid with shock, his hand stilling its motions before once more clamping down on the back of her neck.  Lizzie let out a whimper at the force of his hold, but didn’t dare make any motion to break away, not with the knowledge that what he was seeing would have him balanced on the knife’s edge between violence and total collapse.  She watched as his eyes darkened with understanding, his face gone pale at the undeniable proof of this, her greatest betrayal.  And hope, that delicate, fickle thing, it turned to bitter ashes in her mouth.

The picture glowing up at him from the screen of her phone was a close up of Agnes, showing every feature in beautiful, excruciating detail as she stared up at the camera with adoring eyes; as she looked back at him _with his own eyes._

“No….Oh, Lizzie, _what have you done?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was so short, but the next is just a monster and I had to find a stopping point that made some kind of sense.
> 
> Remember, comments are love and feed the muse! Really, I love hearing from you guys.


	5. Of Monsters and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, just read it. I really can't sum this one up for you.
> 
> As always, I don't own the Blacklist, and right now, you couldn't pay me to be anywhere near Red......

_The picture glowing up at him from the screen of her phone was a close up of Agnes, showing every feature in beautiful, excruciating detail as she stared up at the camera with adoring eyes; as she looked back at him with his own eyes._

_“No….Oh, Lizzie, what have you done?”_

“Red I am so sorry…” she whispered.  It was all she could manage in the face of his shock and devastation, all of her carefully rehearsed explanations refusing to leave her mouth.  Once upon a time, they had seemed perfectly reasonable and valid, but here, in this moment, they only spoke to her own selfishness and cruelty.  Of all the things she had done to him, this final act would surely drive him from her forever and the knowledge that it was no more then what she deserved tore a sob from her throat.

Red’s eyes snapped to her face at that small, soft sound and she flinched away from the torrent of emotions swirling in the pain filled depths of his gaze as if from a physical blow, only able to once more offer up her regret for what she had done.

“Red, I am so sorry, so very, very sorry….Please” she sobbed, begging with her apology for a forgiveness she knew she did not deserve and that would most likely not be granted.

“You’re sorry” he whispered, their faces so close now that his breath ghosted across her skin like a warm caress, his eyes searching her face almost absently as him mind worked to catch up with his emotions.  Their proximity left her little choice but to keep her gaze fixed on his , making it easy for her to pinpoint the exact moment he fought his way free of the shock that her revelation had mired him in.  The dazed look left his eyes as pale emerald shifted once more to the gray-green of storm tossed seas, filled with all the cold fury of an arctic hurricane.  Drowning in the tempest consuming the man before her, Lizzie was unable to look away, the soft thud of her phone falling to the floor barely registering as she felt her arms grasped in hands that were just shy of brutal as Red rose to his feet, dragging her unresisting body up until she stood before him on trembling legs.

“Of all the things my enemies have taken from me in my life, of all the retched things I have been forced to endure…. _None_ of it compares to what you have done…. What you have stolen from me…..and all you can say is that you are _sorry_?” he snarled, teeth bared in a feral grimace of outraged disbelief that was not lessened in the slightest as the whimper she gave in reply failed to satisfy him.

Spinning on his heel, he brought them both around and pressed her into the seat he had just vacated.  Lizzie gasped at the unexpected movement, opening her mouth automatically to protest being manhandled in this fashion, only to be brought up short when Red leaned down from where he stood above her, hands bracing his weight against the armrests of the chair, freezing her in place as he brought his face level with hers.

“Not a word.” His voice, clipped and low, sent a shiver running through her and had Lizzie’s jaw snapping shut in obedience as she eyed him warily.  “I am hanging on to what little control I still possess by a very thin thread so I suggest you stay right where you are and remain silent until I manage to calm down a bit.  Am I understood?” 

Lizzie nodded quickly in affirmation, desperate to avoid provoking him further.  The parody of a smile he twisted his lips into was even less reassuring than his murmured “Good”.   Releasing his grasp from the arm of the chair, he slowly straightened to loom above her for a moment before moving refill his glass from the decanter on the piano, every motion tightly controlled and precise, the quiet before a storm.  It left her feeling tense and uneasy as she sensed a shift in his mood.  His anger didn’t lessen so much as that he seemed to draw it inward, forcing it back into its cage until, when he finally turned to face her again, his grim features had finally settled into a hard mask of indifference.  Eyes that had only moments before seared her with his rage now considered her with a cold calculation that frightened her more for their lack of emotion than all of his anger combined.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive as she watched the wheels turn in his mind and all she could do was wonder helplessly what he would do to her.  She knew _Red_ would never hurt her, but the man standing before her, him she wasn’t so sure about.    

After what seemed like an eternity, he seemed to come to some sort of a decision, placing his untouched glass next to the decanter and moved towards the door.  Stifling the urge to ask where he was going, Lizzie was surprised when he paused on the threshold without turning and answered her unspoken question.

“I’m going to retrieve our daughter from Aram; I’m assuming you left her with him?” Flat, cold and without emotion, his was the voice of a stranger.

“Yes, there was no one else I trusted” she answered softly, assuming it was ok to speak since he had asked her a direct question.

“Elizabeth, I’ll return shortly, and I would very much appreciate it if you were still here when I do.   We have much to discuss, you and I, and to be honest, running from me at this point would be…….unwise.”  Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder at her when she failed to respond, he waited with an eerie calm until the weight of his gaze pulled an unwilling answer from her constricted throat.

“I’ll be here” she choked out, desperately wanting to look away but powerless to do so.  Gone was the man who had filled this room with the beautiful melodies of his grief, gone was the man who had raged against the betrayal perpetrated against him by those he had held most dear, gone even was the man who had only moments before been rocked to his foundation by the revelation of unexpected fatherhood.  What stood before her in his place was a far, far more dangerous creature. _This_ man would not be swayed by emotion, having wrapped himself in his rage until he was left cold and without mercy, and she knew with an instinctive horror that he would be utterly ruthless in his pursuit of her should she attempt to flee from him again. 

At long last, Lizzie finally understood.  _This_ was the man the monsters that inhabited his dark world feared above all others because they _knew_ that when pushed too far, he would not be bargained with, could not be pleaded with, for _this_ man had no pity left in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, good or bad, I live for your input!


	6. A Step Towards The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Red bend or break?
> 
> As always, I don't own the Blacklist, but I think Red needs a hug right about now.

_At long last, Lizzie finally understood.  This was the man the monsters that inhabited his dark world feared above all others because they knew that when pushed too far, he would not be bargained with, could not be pleaded with and he absolutely would not be turned from his chosen course, for this man had no pity left in his heart_.

Forcing himself to close the door softly behind him, rather than giving into the desire to slam it closed with enough force to splinter the wood viscously in its frame, Red walked with smooth, measured steps through the darkened rooms of the safe house towards the kitchen where he knew Dembe would be keeping watch, all the while fighting to maintain the cold detachment he had wrapped himself in when confronted with the depth of Lizzie’s betrayal. 

Entering the dimly lit room, he moved quickly to stand before the sink, where he stared out the window overlooking the street, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the man sitting at the table behind him.  Dembe remained where he was, still and silent as if he knew the danger that now shared space with him could be set off with a single, sudden movement or one misspoken word. 

After so many years by his side, Dembe knew him too well; had seen Red pass through some of his darkest hours, had been his companion in countless bloody altercations, following, ever loyal, as Red had glutted himself on the blood of his adversaries to emerge most times victorious. But always, whether in victory or defeat, _always_ Red was coated in the cloying stench of death and violence that no amount of hot water or finely milled soap could wash away.  And in the aftermath, when the fire of bullets had ceased and the last body had been disposed of, the younger man had stood as a silent sentinel, offering what support he could, keeping watch deep into the night as Red had drowned himself in self-hatred and scotch, struggling to accept what he had been forced to become. 

With such a history together, his brother would only need the briefest of moments to see past the cold mantle of indifference Red had wrapped himself in; would easily recognize the seething rage and pain that the older man was working so hard to keep locked behind his mask.  And once he recognized the darkness rising up inside of him for what it was, he would ask _why_ , and Red’s control would crumble. 

Before, when he had thought Lizzie had been taken from him, Red had had a focal point for his rage and he had pursued that target with a single-minded focus, if not with his usual finesse, becoming in his grief a blunt force object with which to bludgeon his enemy.  But if he lost control now, with no clear target to aim his fury at, anyone near him would become fair game as he sought an outlet for the torrent of emotions riding him so brutally and he wasn’t at all too sure that he would care who he hurt until it was far too late.  No, the _why_ of this nightmare would have to wait until Red had rebuilt his defenses and no longer shook with the need to do violence.

“How quickly can you get a security detail here?”  Red finally broke the silence, flinching at the low gravel pitch of his voice, knowing it would be a dead give-away to the younger man. 

“Twenty minutes if they come straight here, thirty if you want them to stop at the locker for the extra equipment” came the soft reply.  Red waited for the follow-up question he knew was coming.  “Are we expecting company or are these just precautionary measures?”

Red smiled without turning, a small mocking twist of his lips that did not sit well on his gaunt features and he could not help the bitterness that leeched into his tone.

“Nothing is going as expected tonight, my friend, and I am not in the mood for further surprises.  Make the call and have them stop at the locker.  I think we’ll be staying here for a few more days and the extra equipment and security may become necessary as we won’t be changing safe houses tomorrow as planned.  Once the men are in place, please bring the car around.  You and I will be stepping out for a short while.”

“And will Elizabeth and Agnes be staying here as well?” The quiet question, spoken so cautiously, probing gently without asking the underlying questions that hovered between them was Dembe’s way of feeling his way around the wall Red had placed between them.  Such a simple question, but it threatened the tenuous balance Red was fighting to maintain. 

As the shock of Lizzie’s confession had collapsed under the weight of his rage, Red had found himself on the verge of losing all control.  The need to lash out, to hurt as he had been hurt had slammed into him with all the destructive power of a tidal wave and he had almost been drug under by its ensuing riptide.  It would have been too easy to give in to that urge, to use cutting remarks and razor sharp words to mercilessly shred the guilt ridden woman trembling before him and that knowledge had been heady, both a balm and an enticement to the predator that lived within him.  But he couldn’t do it.  Staring into tear-bright eyes that still reminded him of the painfully blue summer skies of his boyhood, eyes that were begging him to understand and forgive, he knew that even now, after all she had done, he couldn’t hurt her.  Not now, not ever.  For all that she had denied him, he was still _hers_.  Still and always, Elizabeth’s monster.

So, in desperation, he had taken the only path still open to him.  He had stuffed his agony and the burning rage that accompanied it down deep into the recesses of his soul to be dealt with later, had grappled with the seething monster that wanted to lash out, to rend and tear until its pain had been answered for, until it had been thrust back behind the bars of its cage, at last confined behind the locked door of his heart. It left him cold and empty but in perfect, careful control.

This was a place inside of himself he did not visit often, only resorting to this point when what was being required of him was more than what his battered soul could bear, when the only way forward was to separate himself from all emotion, immersing himself in his criminal persona so deeply that what remained was a ruthless, heartless creature capable of committing the violent acts that had earned him his reputation as a man not to be crossed. It was an effective tool, but one that cost him dearly every time it was employed.  The price it demanded, paid in sweat-soaked sheets and a throat torn raw with the haunted screams of his nightmares, was always far too high. 

The scrape of the chair against the tile floor rang loud in the heavy silence and was followed by quiet footsteps as Dembe moved to stand behind him; the gentle weight of his comforting hand on Red’s shoulder letting him know that he had not been able to hide his emotional upheaval as well as he had hoped.  Giving in to the inevitable, Red sighed and turned to face his brother.  The compassion he found there was his undoing, for even a monster will seek out comfort when the hurt dealt to him is too great.  Red’s wrath melted away in the face of Dembe’s care, leaving him feeling naked and exposed, with nothing to protect himself from the pain coiled so tightly in his chest. His features twisted as his control shattered, and unable to hold back the pain any longer, he allowed the other man to embrace him, leaning gratefully against the solid warmth of his friend.

“Tell me,” Dembe coaxed softly as if speaking to a wounded animal and that was the final straw. The dam burst, the words flooding out of Red without his permission or consent in an unstoppable babble.  Later, when he was more himself, he would be embarrassed, ashamed to have let anyone see him so vulnerable and weak, but now, in this moment, all he knew was that he needed the safe harbor being offered to him, of knowing someone cared enough to catch him as he fell apart. 

Everything Lizzie had confessed, the truth and miracle that was Agnes, the layers and layers of betrayal and lies, the shock of Mr. Kaplan turning against him, the grief and the pain of past mistakes and Red’s admission of his own guilt in the decisions that had lead them to this here and now, as well as the fears trying to consume him, fear of what lay ahead and all the different ways he could fail, it all flooded from him in a torrent that threatened to drown him if not for the steadfast arms holding him above the raging current.

Finally, there was nothing left and Red fell silent, drained and empty.  Exhausted by his fit of emotion, he couldn’t bring himself to offer even a token protest as he was lead to the kitchen table and gentle hands pressed him down into one of the chairs.

“I’ll make you a cup of tea before I contact the men” Dembe stated calmly as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, steady and unflappable as ever.  Red gave him a weak smile and let him do it, figuring by this point that any attempt at trying to salvage his dignity would be a waste of time.  Besides, a little coddling was nice and happened so rarely that it should be savored for the expression of love it was. 

If Red had save Dembe’s life when he rescued him from the filthy basement he had found him in all those years ago, that debt had been paid many times over.  Red had saved a life; Dembe had helped salvage his soul.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a quick update, and just to let you all know, this has definitely gone AU from the show. Remember to let me know what you think of the chapter and don't be afraid to let me know if you have any suggestions. Next chapter will also be from Red's POV as he is reunited with Agnes.


	7. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longest. Car. Ride. Ever. Red's ghosts ride along and I think I'm a bad person for writing this.
> 
> heatherpeters, this chapter, and maybe the rest of the story, may have remained unwritten if not for your well timed words of encouragement. This one is for you.
> 
> As always, I don't own The Blacklist, but jeez, can I make them bleed.

He was so very tired.  The dark warmth of the car conspired with the dull, static hum of tires running over pavement to lull him deeper into the embrace of soft leather seats.  Exhaustion pulled at him, twisting and sinking its talons deep into muscle and bone as it sang its siren’s song, promising that if he could just rest, just close his eyes for a few precious moments, then perhaps his mind would clear and he could begin, somehow, to make sense of the nightmare he found himself immersed in. 

But even that mercy was to be denied him, a child’s wail of pain and fear echoing through his fogged mind the very minute he gave in and let his heavy eyelids slip shut, jerking him violently out of his near doze, his heart a trip-hammer’s roar as adrenaline spiked and sped through his already over taxed body, causing normally steady hands to twitch and tremble as they ran over his haggard features in a futile attempt at banishing the ghosts that haunted him.

Well, no rest for the wicked and all that…. 

And really, what respite did he deserve, after all?  His hand may not have been the one that delivered the fatal blows that long ago Christmas Eve, but had he not set the stage for the slaughter with his overconfidence, with his naive belief that _he was_ _doing the right thing_ , as if that alone would somehow stand as a shield against the forces he had pitted himself against? Had he not all but written his own tragedy with his unforgivable failure to see the danger he had so carelessly invited into his quiet family home?  And so, rightfully, should not the guilt be his?  Had he not left them alone and unprotected? Had he not failed in every sense to keep them safe from harm?  Should he not have expected something so vile, so viscous, from his enemies?  He had been very well acquainted with their methods, after all, even at that early point in the game; had seen endless examples of their ruthless appetite for brutality in the evidence he had gathered against them. 

No, ignorance could not be claimed and would not absolve him of his guilt. Blinded by his own hubris, he had failed to comprehend the depths to which those he hunted were willing to descend.  His wife, his daughter, the only truly innocence left in his world, they were the ones to pay the price for his lack of understanding. Cut down in his stead; a sacrifice to his arrogance. 

He had failed them, just as he was failing Elizabeth and her child now.

 _“Agnes.”_ A whispered prayer or a desperate plea. Or perhaps, instead, just the last flickering hope of a near broken man.  Not that it mattered.  Not now, not if, as he feared, the secret of that innocent little girl’s parentage would soon flood out across his world, sounding like a hunter’s horn to all who wished to see him brought low, to see him savaged and wounded beyond all hope of recovery.  Would fate be unsatisfied until his heart’s blood was spilt once more?  Just as the truth of Elizabeth’s linage refused to stay buried, this secret, too, would find its way into the light eventually.  It was already in motion.

The additional security had arrived within half an hour of Dembe’s call and had brought with them a single, unassuming brown envelope.  Its contents had damned any hope of keeping Agnes clothed in ambiguity.  Reports Red’s people had recovered from the hard drives taken from Kirk’s compound when they had rescued Elizabeth and Agnes. Kirk had run DNA comparisons on Elizabeth of course, having to make sure of compatibility before he could begin the treatments meant to prolong his miserable life. But for some reason, perhaps on just a whim, he had run them on Agnes as well.  Against Tom.  Of course, there was no match.  Kirk was not a stupid man.  Insane yes.  Stupid, no.  It wouldn’t take him long to come to the obvious conclusion and not much longer than that to begin plans to use the information to his advantage.

If fate had just left well enough alone instead of using Tom Keen’s own impulsive nature to intervene, the world may have never known the deadly secret hidden within the innocence of the tiny girl’s eyes, buried in the very foundation of her DNA.  No one would have ever known, not Red, nor Kirk, no one but Elizabeth and the war being waged between the two men would have ended with a bullet from a sniper’s rifle. The woman Red loved would have lived out her fantasy with another and he, he would have gone to his grave mercifully ignorant of her betrayal. 

But fate had never been overly kind to him, had seemed to delight in teaching Red over and over that the world he inhabited had no room for love, that peace was a fragile, fleeting illusion easily shattered and that those dearest to him could, and inevitably would, be torn from him; that no matter how hard or desperately he fought to hold them safe, fate would have its bloody way.

He should have remembered that.

 _‘All I saw was blood.  All there was, was blood.’_  Memories crowded his mind, past and present colliding and overlapping until he was drowning in them, lungs constricting under the pressure as they fought to draw breath. 

_‘Raymond, I do love…’_

Frantic flight followed by desperate pleas gasped against still warm skin, answered only by endless, echoing silence.

_‘Lizzie, don’t go….oh please, please don’t go……’_

One family brutally taken from him, the other driven by desperation to escape him; both ravaged and bloodied by his failure to protect them from the ugliness of his world.

Fate was a spiteful bitch.

How many times would he have to be taught that painful lesson before he finally _learned_?

“Raymond, we’re here.” A quiet voice called him back from the abyss threatening to shred his sanity, drawing him back to the fears of the here and now, no less crushing in their weight than the horrors that harried him from his past. 

Glancing up, he caught the compassionate gaze Dembe offered him in the rearview mirror and managed a weary nod in acknowledgement.  Brushing aside his weariness, Red forced himself, stumbling, from the car, hands running along the rim of his fedora automatically to adjust the fit, a nervous habit that brought little comfort as he stared up at the apartment building looming in front of him, his gaze both longing and terrified.

A single window glowed softly in the predawn hour, a light in the darkness.  But was it a beacon to light his way home, or a flare shot across the sky to draw his enemies once again to all he held dear?

Fate.  How he hated that word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those of you who are still hanging around, I am SOOOOO SORRY! I just couldn't write until now. My muse left after watching four episodes of the new season and refused to come back. I had to lure her in with rewatches of S1and 2 and promises to pretend that S3B and S4 never happened in this fic. So I finally get her back to the keyboard, and this happens.
> 
> Please don't hate me, I promise Red and Agnes fluff next chapter and Aram gets to say his piece!  
> I would like to thank everyone who took the time to kudo and comment and just generally encouraged me not to give up. You are so loved!


	8. Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, as promised, Red and Agnes fluff with a side of Aram!
> 
> As always, I don't own The Blacklist, but this chapter was so much of a relief after the last one!

_A single window glowed softly in the predawn hour, a light in the darkness.  But was it a beacon to light his way home, or a flare shot across the sky to draw his enemies once again to all he held dear?_

_Fate.  How he hated that word._

                                                ********************************

“Mr. Reddington, what are you doing here?  Is everything ok?   Where’s Agent Keen?”

“Hello Aram.  Elizabeth fine, she’s at the safe house. I’ve come to fetch Agnes back to her. May I come in?”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course!”   The quiet man’s flustered fidgeting brought a shadow of a smile to Reddington’s face, a small consistency; a slight comfort for a mind still reeling under the weight of too many secrets reveled in too short a time.

“I apologize for the late hour, but it couldn’t be helped. I hope we didn’t wake you” Red apologized as he passed through the door now opened wide for him and Dembe.

“No” Aram laughed, “Agnes did that about ten minutes ago.  She’s a little fussy tonight, up and down every few hours.  Missing her mother I guess.” As if on cue, a demanding cry sounded from the depths of the portable playpen stationed next to the couch, making all three men start at the sudden noise.  

“I’ve got a bottle warming for her in the kitchen.  I’ll just be a minute…” he let his voice trail off, confused at the subtle shift in the tension surrounding the dangerous man now fixated on the playpen. 

“Ok then” he muttered, shuffling to the kitchen after being absently waved off by the other man.  Once out of sight, he allowed concern to scrunch his features, aware he probably was doing a very good impression of a constipated rabbit but unable to help it.  Something was obviously going on.  _Again_.  Honestly, when wasn’t something going on?  And as usual, Aram had no idea as to what; just that he was more than likely going to be plopped down into the middle of it while being given as little information as possible.

“Well, we’ll just see about that” he muttered defiantly as he tended to the bottle slowly heating in the warm water on the stove.

Ignoring the quiet noise from the kitchen, all of Red’s attention was now focused on the increasingly fussy cries coming from the end of the couch.  Removing his overcoat and fedora, Red placed them over the back of the couch with more care than was strictly necessary, rearranging them twice before leaving them be.  S _talling,_ he mocked himself and forced his feet to move, slowly approaching the playpen, unaware of the low soothing sounds that began rumbling from his throat in response to the increased whimpers emanating from its interior. 

He leaned over the side, and time just…stopped.

In that suspended moment, Red felt his heart beat once, twice, and then it belonged to him no more, beating now instead for the angel wiggling around unhappily amongst a cloud of plush blankets and an army of drool coated stuffed animals.  He had thought Elizabeth owned him in his entirety, that he had nothing left to give, but apparently there was just enough left of his tattered soul for Agnes to stake a claim and it pierced him to his core.  Could a monster be owned by two? Of course it could.  And he surrendered himself to that claim gladly.

Oh, he had loved the little girl from the moment of her birth; loved her as Elizabeth’s daughter and as something precious in her own right; but now, knowing that she was _his_ , that he had the _right_ to love her……

Well, that changed _everything_.

Tiny hands lifted in demand and he obeyed without thought, reaching down and lifting the slight body to bring her close, secure in strong arms and face to face so they could study one another.

“Hello Nessa.” The words murmured on a sigh as he stared, captivated by eyes the mirror image of his own.  Eyes that stared back at him without fear, clear and bright and curious.

“What a miracle you are, sweetheart.” He smiled as the child gurgled at him in apparent agreement, removing her fist from her mouth to pat his cheek with wet, chubby fingers as if to say, _Of course I am, and don’t you forget it_.

_Oh_ , he thinks as his eyes slide shut in bliss, _for **this** he would do anything.  For the feel of a living child’s tiny, innocent hand pressed to his cheek once more, for that, he would lay waste to the world._  

For once, the man and the monster were in complete agreement.

Eyes open once more, heart lost in the innocent gaze of his second chance, the wheels of his great mind began to turn.  The man purposed; the monster whispered, and together they began to plot.

Damn Fate and all its cruel intentions.  It would not have them.  Not _this_ family. Not _this_ time.

                                                            ********************

“Ok, Agnes!  It’s finally ready. Sorry it took so long but-Oh my God!”

Both Red and Agnes turned to the kitchen doorway at the startled exclamation to find Aram frozen in place, mouth hanging open in shock.

“Oh, my God! She’s….You’re….I mean…..How? Whoa, no no no! I mean, I know _how_ ,” Aram continued to stammer, franticly backtracking at the eyebrow Red cocked at him.  “I don’t mean actually how, I’m not asking for details…. God no, I would never….but she’s _yours_! How did I miss it? How did we _all_ miss it?”

With a sigh, Red moved to settle on the couch, careful not to jostle the light burden in his arms while he let the younger man rattle on for a few more minutes in the hope that he would wind down on his own; only interrupting when he realized the words were actually picking up speed rather than abating.

“Aram.” No response. Voice a little louder, “Aram, you need to calm down.  Hand me the bottle before you strangle it to death and have to make a new one.  We really don’t have time for that if I’m going to get Agnes back to her mother before dawn.”

His ramblings brought up short by the firm tone, Aram glanced down at the bottle in his hands, grimacing in embarrassment at the fact that the death grip he had on it was indeed forcing formula to leak out in thin rivulets around the edges of the nipple.

“Um, yeah, sorry about that” he muttered, moving forward to hand the bottle over before perching on the edge of the chair at the other end of the sofa.  He watched as Red began feeding the child, his face softening at the tender way the older man handled the babe, and for a while the only sounds were the greedy, happy grunts produced by the little girl. The quiet interlude lasted until the bottle was finished and Red asked for a blanket for his shoulder.

“Now none of that little miss,” he scolded gently as Agnes protested fussily at being propped up against his shoulder. “While I’m the first one to advocate for a nap immediately following a good meal, if we don’t get some of that air out first, none of us are going to get any rest at all.  As I recall, you are in possession of an excellent set of lungs and absolutely no fear in using them. Now, be a good girl and give us a burp, huh sweetheart?”  Gentle pats soon lulled the child into relaxing again and it wasn’t long until the desired effect was achieved.

Aram smiled, watching them together.  Honestly, who wouldn’t?  It was sweet, seeing how the little girl was so easily wrapping one of the most dangerous men in the world around her tiny little fingers.  He was tempted to take a picture to show Samar (she’d never believe it otherwise) but didn’t feel like having his phone destroyed for him.

“You’re really good with her.  Took me forever to get her to burp for me earlier tonight. You make it look easy, like you’ve done it a million times” he commented, voice warm with affection, not thinking before the words were out, only realizing what he had said when he caught the sharp look Red directed his way.

“Perhaps not a million times, and certainly not for a very long time, but yes, I’ve done this many times” Red allowed, knowing the gentle man had not meant to stir up painful memories with his words. “And I am hopeful that I will be allowed the opportunity to do so again many, many times in the future.” He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss against the downy head lying peacefully against his shoulder.

“You didn’t know did you?  I mean, before tonight, you didn’t know.  She didn’t tell you.” Voice gentle and compassionate, Aram could see it clearly now. 

So much of what had happened since Elizabeth’s exoneration suddenly made sense where it never had before.  The quick deterioration of their relationship so soon after her return, how hard she had worked to distance herself from Red and, most of all, how she had rushed back to Tom; suddenly ready to forgive him everything and eager to make it work between them.  It had baffled the entire team at the time and it had definitely sent Red into some of the blackest moods Aram had ever seen him in every time the man’s name had been mentioned.  And now, tragically, it all made sense.

“What makes you think I didn’t know, Aram?  And here I was, under the impression you thought I knew everything” Red mocked, stifling the flare of pain (and yes, humiliation) the younger man’s accurate insight caused.

“If you had known, you would have never allowed things to go the way they did” Aram stated firmly, confident in his assessment of the situation.

“I think you may be giving me more credit than I deserve, Aram.  Elizabeth can be very stubborn.” Red sniffed haughtily.

Aram snorted at that. “Stubborn? You two are the most stubborn people I have ever met.  Do you know how much of this could have been avoided if you two would just sit down and actually talk to each other? I mean really talk and listen to each other like adults?” He scolded.

“There really hasn’t been a good time for that-“

“Well,” Aram bulldozed over the excuse without hesitation, “you two are going to have to _make_ the time! Children need both their parents, and now that you know, I imagine this changes things.”

“Yes, Aram, this changes things” Red sighed heavily, rising from the couch still cradling the sleeping child to his chest.  “And that’s all you need to know on the matter.  Dembe, if you would, help Aram gather her things.  We need to be going.”

“But Mr. Reddington, you’re going to need help!” Aram objected. “I can-“

“No, Aram” Red interrupted sharply.  “I won’t involve you in this any further.  What’s coming is far too dangerous.  As I said, the less you know, the safer you will remain.”

How a man could look so intimidating while holding a baby was beyond him Aram thought to himself, but Mr. Reddington managed it just fine.  Taking a deep breath, Aram prepared to poke the bear.

“Well, you see, Mr. Reddington, that’s where you’re wrong.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope I lived up to your expectations of the long awaited reunion! Drop a line, let me know what you thought.


	9. Chessmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So our little cinnamon roll is poking the bear! If the chapter title didn't clue you in, chess metaphors abound and Aram has to work a little harder than he thought to make his point!
> 
> As always, I don't own the Blacklist, but hey, it never stopped me before!

_“Well, you see, Mr. Reddington, that’s where you’re wrong.”_

_I wonder if they’ll even find a body_ Aram thought to himself in horrified fascination, watching the softness fade from the man standing in front of him, watched as it was replaced by a subtle tension, a coiling of intent.  Predators go very still just before they strike. And Mr. Reddington had gone so very, very still.  Aram swallowed nervously, the sound loud in the thick quiet that lay heavy in the air like a smothering blanket, but he refused to look away from the cold green gaze that bored into his.  It had taken everything he had to utter those words, and he refused to back down now.  Too much was at stake for him to cower down, no matter how intimidated he was feeling.  This would be his only chance to make Mr. Reddington listen and he was not going to let it go to waste.

The silence stretched, becoming impossibly more uncomfortable before those cold green eyes blinked slowly and Aram could breathe again.  Slowly, the very dangerous man moved back to the couch and resumed his seat, a predator settling in to wait, to see which way the prey would run.

“Explain.”

A single word, spoken softly, both permission and demand.  He would listen, for now.  For Aram, it was enough.

 “You’re playing a high stakes game of chess, Mr. Reddington, and I think you’ve been playing for a very long time now.  It’s a game you’re very, very good at, but the game has changed.  The board has shifted and your opponents aren’t playing by the rules anymore.  Crippling yourself now would be more than foolish. It would be stupid. You’ll never win by refusing to use all the pieces at your disposal.  Your opponents are going to bring all they have to bear on you and they won’t spare your knight or bishop just because you refuse to move them.  They’ll try and use the members of the task force to get to you and Agent Keen so you see; there isn’t any safety for me in ignorance.  In play or not, I’m already on the board and they know it.  They’ll take me out simply to eliminate any potential threat I represent, and because it will hurt Agent Keen, which in turn, will hurt you.  Either way, they win. You’re not a stupid man, Mr. Reddington.  Use the resources you have to their fullest. I can help.  More than that, I want to.  Please don’t ask me to stand idly by while that innocent child’s life is at risk.  You, Agent Keen and the rest of us?  We made our choices.  Agnes had no say.  We have to speak for her.  Let me help” he pleaded.

The silence of the room was softer after Aram allowed his words to trail off; still present, but no longer weighed down by the dangerous tension that had flavored it before.  Softer, yes, but no less heavy as Aram waited for a verdict to his plea.  Predatory intensity has been replaced with a nostalgic sadness in the gaze that held his and he dared to hope he had gotten through.

“Such a nobility of character rarely have I seen in another, Aram” Red spoke softly, an honest fondness filling his voice, making it kind.  That kindness never changed, never faded; even as he went on to speak words that were meant to shred the gentle man sitting so earnestly before him.  Words that were designed to hurt, not with malicious intent, but to save the younger man from the nightmare he was so determined to throw himself into.  Red had no desire to see this gentle soul sullied any further by the evil that lurked in his world.  And so he was cruel; wanting desperately to preserve him as he was now, to protect Aram from becoming jaded and twisted and as haunted by this life as Red himself was.

“But tell me, in your earnest zeal, how far down into the pit are you willing to travel?  It’s cold down here, Aram, and there are monsters that live in the dark.  How much gore are you willing to coat yourself in?  How much like us are you willing to become?  I have no doubt that you would die for those you hold dear, but are you willing to kill for them?  Because, make no mistake, if you pursue this course, if you choose to play this game, the day will come that you will have to do just that.  I will point you in the direction of our enemies, and I will ask you to be their executioner.  Will you be able to swing the axe; to end countless lives without hesitation or qualm?” A pause, as he considered the young man, watched as he wilted in the face of the ugliness deliberately painted so graphically for him.  And then he _pushed_ , driving his point home with exacting, calculated precision.

“I cannot wait for that day to arrive for you to make that decision.  I need to know, here and now. Tell me, Aram.  Are you truly ready to spill blood for me?”

To Aram’s credit, he didn’t answer quickly, didn’t blindly promise to do whatever it took.  Closing his eyes, he considered everything Mr. Reddington had said, knowing that the intent to discourage him from the choice he was making did not make the words spoken any less true.  He considered his life, his family.  The good things he had.  He considered his career, how all he had ever wanted to do was help people who could not help themselves.  If he did this, he would never be the same man as he was right now, in this moment.  He would have to live with the things he would have to do, with the lives he would help take.  He weighed all he had against all that he knew and then he opened his eyes.  Agnes still lay peacefully sleeping against her father’s chest, and suddenly, it wasn’t a difficult decision at all.  Chin raised in defiance, he spoke the words that would change his life forever.

“For you?  No, not for you, Mr. Reddington.  But for Agnes?  Absolutely.  Some things are worth the price demanded of us.  You, more than anyone, know that truth.” Decision made, Aram was almost giddy with relief.  He knew the euphoria would not last long, but for now it was a welcome comfort.

Red considered him for a moment longer and then accepted the decision with a curt nod.

“So be it” he said with finality before a dark humor twisted his lips into a wry smile.  “You do realize Lizzie is going to kill me for allowing this, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry; I’ll make sure she knows this was all my idea.”  Aram grinned back.

Red snorted.  “As if that will help.  Then she’ll just be mad at both of us.”

Aram only grinned wider, feeling invincible for the moment.  “I just won an argument with the great Raymond Reddington.  I think I can handle Agent Keen being mad at me for a little while.”   

Red laughed outright at that, shaking his head with mirth.  “A bishop taking on a red queen. That, I cannot wait to see!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, one more chapter of Aram goodness and then we'll head back and see how Lizzie has been handling being left alone to stew. Let me know what you think of this chapter, cause you know I live for your reviews!

**Author's Note:**

> I live for your input, so good or bad, let me know what you think! Also, the song Red plays is the version of Hallelujah by The Canadian Tenors. It's a more instrumental version than Jeff Buckley's, but I love them both. You should give them both a listen and let me know which version you see Red preferring. Thanks as always for reading.


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